


Snow Day

by darkdropout



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkdropout/pseuds/darkdropout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not that Sho was ever particularly adult-like when Aiba was nearby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Day

  
  
It was the first real snowfall of the year, thought Aiba as he pushed open the car door, just enough to fit himself and his puffy winter coat through. The cold air tingled on his skin and the wind pricked at his eyes and he smiled, wide and breathy, white smoke curling from his chapped lips.

Aiba loved the winter. He loved the summer and the autumn and the spring too, but he loved winter maybe best of all because something about endless miles of pristine white snow brought out the child in everyone. Even in Sho.

Not that Sho was ever particularly adult-like when Aiba was nearby. But he had those serious moments, the respected newscaster, university economics major, actual real grown-up moments where his brow tensed and his shoulders straightened and he spoke in that different Sakurai-san voice that Aiba sometimes heard him use when he was on the phone with someone important. Lately, there had been more and more days where Sho was on the phone with someone important – between set changes for _VS_ , in the green room after _HnA_. Sho was almost looking more like an adult every day, and the stack of newspapers he carried under his arm from place to place got bigger and bigger. Which is why Aiba had decided it was time to make him a child again, at least for today.

Aiba shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, burying his nose into the scarf wrapped around his neck. Today, where Aiba was taking him, Sho would not be able to bring his newspapers. Today, the two of them would play in the snow until Sho forgot that he was almost thirty and had anything more pressing to do than help Aiba build a snowman.

Crunching through the fresh snow, already well over his feet and still falling steadily in thick heavy flakes that melted on his cheeks and eyelashes, Aiba fished his phone out of his pocket and opened it with gloved fingers. A mail from Sho.

“Are you here yet?”

“Alkmnst,” he typed messily. Winter gear was not ideal for accuracy on small keypads.

Just as Aiba snapped his phone shut, he heard the quiet “ping” of a message received. He looked up, smile already pressed hot against the inside of his scarf at the familiar sound. There was Sho, ten yards or so away, stumbling through the snowy tundra. Aiba would know him anywhere, even as a blue and yellow smudge in the distance. Sho always looked like Sho. Plus, he was wearing the big yellow earmuffs Aiba had gotten him for Christmas last year.

“Sho-chan!” Aiba called out, waving frantically. He not so much ran, but jumped, foot to foot, through the snowy space between them, kicking up as much as was falling down from the overcast sky above. Sho, the blue and yellow smudge, stopped where he was, letting out a long ( _serious,_ thought Aiba, closing the distance between them with an ease that Sho seemed not to possess in this kind of environment) huff that hung in the air, before Aiba finally reached his destination, wrapped long arms around Sho’s puffy blue waist and, solely with the force of his enthusiasm, pushed them both backwards into the snow.

“Aiba,” Sho hissed, annoyed more at the cold seeping into the small space at the base of his head where his hat and scarf met than anything else, then “ _Masaki_.”

Aiba hadn’t planned to end up in what most be the most bizarre snow angel ever created, a tangle of two sets of limbs sticking out intermittently like the many heads and hands of a Hindu god. But now that they were there, he was perfectly happy to press close, face to face with Sho, their noses (Sho’s nose was pink with cold and his cheeks were flushed from the wind, Aiba noticed idly, and it made him look like a little boy) almost touching.

“Sho-chan,” he said again, happily. “Sho-chan, you wore the earmuffs I gave you!”

Sho sighed again, but his mouth curved into a smile to match the one plastered to Aiba’s face. Aiba smiled wider. Sho went cross-eyed trying to look at it.

So Aiba kissed him.

Aiba hadn’t planned to kiss Sho either because they had lots of things to do today and they didn’t have time to waste, but Sho’s lips were soft and his breath was warm as they parted, opening easily to Aiba’s familiar persistence. Sometimes Sho was serious and sometimes Sho was annoyed and sometimes Sho was an _adult_ , but he was never too anything to kiss Aiba.

They stayed like that, gentle, warm kisses in the cold snowfall, until Sho’s phone began to ring, muffled through layers of jacket

Aiba pulled away. “Your phone, Sho-chan.”

Sho shook his head. His eyes were bright and childlike, not like Aiba had seen them for a while now. He turned to nose Aiba’s cheek.He didn’t reach for his phone.

“It could be important,” Aiba said, through a giggle, leaning into the touch.

“No,” Sho replied easily then, to prove his point, kissed him again, one, two, small sweet kisses that sent warm tingles all the way to Aiba’s toes. Aiba pulled away, reaching out to snap one of Sho’s earmuffs against his head.

Sho’s nose scrunched in indignation was the last thing Aiba saw before he found himself on his back, watching the snowflakes fall from above. Sho, now standing, came suddenly into focus, reached a hand out to him.Sho was smiling, and laughing, his yellow earmuffs askew, and Aiba remembered the first time he’d ever seen Sho smile, when they were young, and even then Sho had wasted so much time being serious.

But that’s why he had Aiba, to make sure he didn’t grow up too fast.

“Let’s go build a snowman, Masaki-chan,” Sho said, seriously.

Aiba nodded. He grabbed Sho’s hand, and thought, not for the first time, that he might just never let go.

 


End file.
